Poem Interlude

Ode to a Coil

There's something
about a coil. The black
licorice phone cord. And
the chignon against a word
like nape. The snake,
resting dryly, tasting
the light. The thin curl of smoke
from a thin cigarette. A spiral
of Cumberland pig. And
springs and boing,
hives and buzz. And
screws for twisting
corks of sky, and a spiral
nebula, which is a spiral
galaxy, and the more amorphous
patterning, round and round
figure-eighting, which
spirographically sighs
nothing new and
once upon a time.